


Hunt—Cetar Prologue

by AstroMechArtistWrites



Series: Cetar [1]
Category: The Mandalorian
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mandalorian Universe, More to add in time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroMechArtistWrites/pseuds/AstroMechArtistWrites
Summary: A story of those made of blood and beskar—the Ovess
Series: Cetar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667314
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Hunt—Cetar Prologue

  
  


The outer-rim territory is a vast, unforgiving expanse of space. It has been rife with scum and filth long before the Empire got it’s vile tendrils into it. And while it’s been years since the War ended and the reformed Republic has made efforts to repair the galaxy, seedy crimes and filthy dealings still persist in the shadows.

And that is something the Ovess Clan simply doesn't forgive. 

The Clan’s teroch-style gunship, the Drago Helm, had tracked a group of Trandoshan smugglers to a dust choked rock conveniently unmarked in the mid-rim star maps. The Ovess caught them in the middle of transport. The Mando’ade knew they needed to hurry.   
  
_“Oya!”_

Sparing no time, the largest of the Ovess leapt from the Helm’s loading ramp, crossing the desert ground at incredible speeds. Before the lead slave trader can recognize the red blur closing in on him, a massive glove grabs him by the jugular and slams him into the ground. The Trandoshan can barely grip his blaster before a boot slams down to crush his wrist.   
  
“Don’t move.” Izay growled. 

The other traders grab the innocents and flee to the shipyard as quickly as they can. Izay lets out a curse as three of his Clan sprint past him, weapons at the ready. Their boots pound against the dirt like the drums of war, beating in time with the hearts in their chests. When the traders split and dive into the ruins of the shipyard, the Ovess are hot on each of their tails. There are shouts of oya’karir, and the scattered whistles of rifle fire. And almost as quickly as the commotion began, silence overtook the landscape once more, save for the sickening crunches of beskar colliding with scales. 

«I’ll ask just one more time. _How many have you taken?_ »

Izay’s boot slams down hard into the Trandoshan’s chest, crushing his battered gear and threatening to break the already bruised ribs underneath. There’s a weak hiss as the Trandoshan struggled to grip Izay’s ankle in a vain attempt to break free, but his talons barely pierce the leather. His hands, after all, had already been crushed.

«Not gonna answer me?» Izay snarled in Dosh.«And here I thought you Trandoshan hunters could be reasoned with.» 

Izay hit the cuff of his vambrace against his cuirass, causing a hidden viroblade to shoot out.  
«If you won’t talk, then I will take another tooth.” 

From the ship’s loading ramp, Jyothi sighed beneath her visor while Akali giggled in amusement. They’d elected to stay behind on the ship for lookout, and in turn watched Izay beat into his quarry for at least five brutal minutes. The Heavy Artillery showed no signs of stopping. 

“We should probably remind Izay that we lose some of the bounty if the ge’hutuuns die.” Akali grinned. The specialist then snorted when Izay dug the viroblade into the trader’s mouth, eliciting a mangled scream. 

“Harchaak… Izay really hates slave traders.” Akali says to Jyothi. 

“As do I. But at this rate, Izay will kill him.” Jyothi sighed beneath her visor. The older Mandalorian turned back into the ship so she could get the med-bay prepared. There would soon be new passengers, all of which Jyothi would need to evaluate. She turned to Akali and clicked her tongue. “Tell Izay to control himself and get that filth in the holding cell. Nika won’t want the innocents to see all that blood.” 

“Elek, Jyothi.” Akali said as she slid down the loading ramp. She called out to Izay with cupped gloves, forcing her modulator to fizz. “Hey, Izay? IZAY!” 

  
Izay’s crimson helmet whipped around. 

_“What?!”_

“Move the ge’hutuun over there!” 

_“There?!”_

“Yes, over there—no, I said MOVE, not THROW!” 

  
  
  
  


Within the abandoned shipyard, Aya and Vers had taken to retrieval. So far, Aya recovered six slaves of differing species. Most of the slaves were young adults, and were all in varying states of distress. 

“It’s okay,” Aya cooed as she led them to the ship with a gentle hand. “We will take you home once your injuries are addressed.” 

Off in the opposite end of the shipyard, far from the eyes of their former captives, Vers had trussed up three of the runaway traders with steel cables. The fourth was unceremoniously hog tied and draped over Vers’ spiked pauldrons, which sliced into his side with ease. The trader cried out in obvious pain, but the Mandalorian paid no mind. 

“Vers, are those the last of the crew?”  
  
Vers turned his head to find Nika standing a few feet from him, holding a gold Twi’lek child in her arms.The ion-blasters on Nika’s helmet had been locked forward, but began to rise back up into position when his buir came forward to observe the catch. She noted the lack of serious injuries on the Trandoshans and hummed in approval.

“You followed orders, Vers. Not a single one broken in half.” 

Curious, Vers nodded down to the child in his buir’s arms. Nika looked down and gently lifted the limp lekk to reveal a delicate little face with a nubbin nose and big blue eyes. She couldn’t have been older than nine. Irritated by the sun, the child buried her face into Nika’s cuirass and she let out a little whine.   
“It’s alright, little one.” Nika murmured, moving her cloak to wrap around the child. “We will bring you home. I promise.” 

  
Vers stepped closer to his buir before flipping his free hand towards Nika. He then hit his thumb to his visor and hit his knuckles to his chest.

  
  


Nika’s helmet tilted slightly. “You know we have to, Vers. She might have a family.” Vers’ helmet droops, causing his buir to sigh. 

“ _Ad_ , this is not… _this is not the time_. Come. We need to go before Cassius begins to worry.” 

The zabrak nodded slowly and, a bit dispirited, began dragging the trussed up slave traders behind him as he followed Nika back to the ship. From beneath the cloak, the child peers out with wide eyes, staring at the man with horns on his head. Vers notices just as he ascends the loading ramp of the Drago Helm. Hesitantly, he waves at her. 

A single, gold lekku curls out from beneath the cloak and slowly waves back. 


End file.
